


it's buzzcut season anyway

by jellobean



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Prison, Prison fluff, or as domestic as they can be in prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 08:58:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16513265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellobean/pseuds/jellobean
Summary: Mickey likes redheads. Ian doesn’t want to fix his hair.





	it's buzzcut season anyway

Mickey likes redheads. He loves carrot tops and alien-looking motherfuckers; he thinks he’s made that pretty damn clear. So when he sees Ian for the first time in years, in that small prison cell with hair as dark as his own, he’s a little confused. This is not the Ian Gallagher he had pictured for the last few years. Not that he did that a lot. He tried not to think of him too much, but every once in a while Mickey let his thoughts wander back to his first and only love, and every time he did he allowed the vision of Ian’s coppery hair to fill his soul with a certain warmth that he had been missing.

 Of course, there were more important things to worry about at first, like _how the fuck_ Ian even managed to get himself locked up in state prison. Last time he checked Ian had his shit together with a steady job and a savings account. He was even willingly taking his meds and Mickey was _proud._ Now Mickey’s looking at the love of his life, in prison, with dumb fucking hair and right now he’s simply thankful that Ian looks just as relieved to see him. 

 Their separation at the southern border marked the beginning of a grueling time for Mickey Milkovich, whose heart might as well have _Ian Gallagher_ carved right onto it, much like the skin it lies beneath. No matter their distance, he’s always going to be worried about the messes Ian manages to get himself into; he loves the  guy with his entire body and soul, but Mickey’s love isn’t blind to that god awful dye job and he’s not letting Ian get away with it just because the fucker found himself in some deep shit. 

 But that complaint can wait. For now though, he’s letting them both enjoy this reunion. 

 They deserve it. 

 ___

 It’s been a little over a month inside and Mickey’s only mentioned the hair situation once or twice. Maybe three times. And perhaps even a few more passive aggressive comments thrown in for good measure. Ian knows Mickey hates it, knows it looks like shit, but it’s so hard to care when every remark or glare Mickey throws his way is so… _cute._ God, Ian had missed him. 

His hair looks objectively stupid, particularly with how his natural color is growing in now, orange-hued curls mixing with the black. But Mickey’s just so grumpy about it that he physically pouts. Ian fucking loves that pout, and frankly as long as Mickey insists on sulking and pushing out those pretty lips like that, there’s very little incentive for Ian to actually do anything to make him stop. 

“It feels like I’m making out with myself, man. This dark hair ain’t a look for you,” Mickey reached up to run his fingers through Ian’s black curls, pausing an important morning make-out session in their tiny bottom bunk. 

They had routines now. Wake up. Brush teeth. Kiss extensively. Eat breakfast. 

And there’s that pout again. Ian smiled and quickly resumed kissing his boyfriend with quick presses of lips to lips, followed by deep and languid kisses that Mickey couldn’t resist, effectively ignoring the grump’s complaints for now. He was not going to let Mickey disrupt this crucial step in their routine. Once he made sure Mickey was thoroughly distracted, Ian pulled back and fondly looked down at his dazed face, “You sure about that? If only you _could_ make-out with yourself, your lips are just that good,” Ian’s eyebrows rose suggestively while Mickey’s turned down into a familiar scowl. “Plus, I think that’d be kinda hot.”

Ian was laying fully on top of him now, staring directly into Mickey’s light blue eyes that just rolled so far into the back of his head he looked demonic. 

“You’re a fucking weirdo, dude.”

“Oh, Definitely. But a weirdo you love, right?”

And if there was any look that could rival a Mickey Milkovich pout, it was the absolute smug smile that Ian was sporting that morning. 

___

At breakfast, Ian could tell Mickey was especially pissy, sighing every single time he looked across the table and caught the sight of the black hair. He’s being a real brat about it, honestly. 

Ian didn’t want to give in to his ridiculousness, but he also wanted Mickey to talk to him. “What’s wrong?” he resigned. He already knew. 

“We’re shaving that mop off. _Today_. I want that red hair back,” Mickey demanded.

“ _We_? It’s my fucking hair, Mick!” 

“It’s really cute that you think that,” Mickey garbled through a mouth full of his food, whatever the fuck it was. Mickey actually enjoyed this little bickering match they’ve been having. It’s a distraction, something harmless to focus on while they're locked up together. He knows Ian gets a kick out of it, feels it’s domestic or some shit. The little shit has always liked arguing with anyone, but especially him. It feels like old times but even better than that somehow.

There’s no hostility or resentment in their tones, though. Hours and days and weeks of talking to each other everyday, having each other’s backs had done a lot to heal them. An unsaid understanding that too much has happened and there’s too much ahead of them to dwell on their past.

“Where are you even going to find a razor, Mickey? We’re in prison. Pretty sure that’s a classified weapon.” Ian is purposefully teasing him now, but he is genuinely curious. 

“They don’t call this part of the prison ‘Disneyland’ for nothing, Gallagher. I know people. I’m getting a razor and that black hair is gone, you hear me?”  

“Whatever you say, baby,” and Ian’s giving him that _look again._ That slow, smug smile of his that says all of Mickey’s complaining and whining has finally paid off. If Mickey wants his redhead back, Ian’s going to do his part to make it happen for him. 

As much as he loves his grump, Ian really loves to make his boyfriend happy. 

___

The two men tend to stick together all day, everyday. Too much time apart coupled with the uncertainty that clouded their entire relationship growing up has made them both needy. Mickey’s always been overprotective of Ian, and Ian has gotten used to depending on him again; it doesn’t scare him like it used to and he wants to be able to protect Mickey, too. They both welcome the security and confidence their bond affords them in prison where that brand of loyalty is hard to come by unearned. 

After breakfast they report to their work assignments together, another perk of Mickey’s stellar negotiation with the feds. More routine. Work. Lunch. More work. It’s nothing special, just some landscaping duties around the prison grounds. They get to do their work, keep to themselves and focus on tasks to kill some time in the day. It works for them.

On a normal day, Mickey will follow Ian outside and watch him work out in their time off. The prison newbie has found that keeping his body moving is a good distraction for his mind, and Mickey  never complains. Sometimes Mickey joins in, as he typically opts for working out during his incarcerations, but  this time around he’s been more than happy just watching his man work that toned body in the late afternoon sun. 

Today, however, Mickey has plans. When they are back in their cell after work, he tells Ian he’s got some business to take care of. “You don’t want to watch me lift today?” Ian questions, his one eyebrow raised dramatically. Mickey always wants to watch him.

“Don’t worry Gallagher. I’ll work that body out plenty later on. Gimme a kiss.” They float to one another on command and share a sweet, reaffirming kiss. Mickey winks and turns to walk away, leaving Ian a little too excited for a casual afternoon workout in the prison yard. 

___

Mickey makes his way down to the “barber shop,” luckily located in their quadrant of the prison where he has some pull among the other guys. It’s really just his buddy Rib who runs his own place on the outside, making him the designated man for simple grooming and shape-ups for the guys locked up. The warden allows him the necessary tools with supervision. Today, though, Mickey’s getting what he needs. 

“Yo, I need that electric razor you got.” Mickey doesn’t ask. He folds his arm over his chest and takes a wide stance in Rib’s cell. He leaves no room to be denied. Not like Rib would ever take the chance in denying Mickey Milkovich when he looks so determined. Rib can tell he’s not fucking around today. This is too important. 

That doesn’t mean Rib won’t give the kid shit though. 

“What for, Milkovich? You and your boy aren’t gonna shave each other’s pubes, are you? Because that definitely wouldn’t warrant me sticking my neck out for you.”

“What the fu—No. Don’t fucking talk about his pubes. Or mine. Gallagher just needs a haircut and nobody touches that hair but me.” Mickey knocks his knuckle against his nose. An angry tick. He just wants the razor and to get back to Ian. 

“Ok that I can believe. His hair looks like shit.” 

Thick, black eyebrows rose in shock that this man would talk about Ian like that to Mickey’s face. “The fuck did you say? He looks fine.” Mickey was a second away from forgetting where he was. Rib knew what he and Ian were, but now really isn’t the time to defend his boyfriend’s honor over something so dumb. Especially in prison. Shit, Ian would kill him. No matter how cool Rib may be, it’s still no place for Mickey to be an idiot because of pride and loyalty.

“Chill the fuck out Mickey. I’m not stepping on your dude. Here’s the damn razor, now get out of my cell. And don’t get fucking caught with that because I’ll say you stole it, asshole.” 

“Don’t fucking worry about it,” Mickey marched out, flipping Rib off with one hand and holding the razor with the other. 

 ___

Mickey sat back in bed reading a trashy magazine waiting for Ian to come back from his workout. The razor was stashed under his pillow, not that he was worried. He knows these guards. They don’t make a lot of surprise inspections in Disneyland, but it would just be stupid to leave it hanging around if it’s not even being used. No way is he letting it get confiscated when he’s so close to fixing one of the great wrongdoings in his universe. 

A few minutes later he hears the heavy metal door bang open, and Mickey watches a rosy-skinned, glistening Ian Gallagher make his way into the room fresh from lifting in the yard. Mickey appreciated seeing his sweat-soaked white tank top stick to Ian’s skin, the top of his jumpsuit left hanging around his hips. Damn, he looked real good. Well, from the eyebrows down anyway. Mickey couldn’t wait to get the full view again. It’s been too long. 

Ian, noticing his boyfriend’s less than stealthy stare, bent down and ripped the magazine from those tattooed hands. Not like he was reading it anyway. 

“Hey Mick,” Ian said sweetly, looking back towards the door to make sure no one was outside. Ian leaned further down and gave Mickey a quick kiss hello. “What have you been up to?” 

“Funny you should ask that, Gallagher. I got something for you.” Mickey discretely reached behind his head to grab ahold of the electric razor and turned it on, a muffled buzz filling the small cell, but not yet revealing what was behind the pillow. 

“Mickey…is that a vibrator?” 

“A vibrator? No, you dumbass. It’s the razor I promised I would get.” Mickey pulled his arm out from under the pillow, holding the small set of clippers he was going to use on his boyfriend. “Take your shirt off and sit on the ground. We’re taking care of this shit right now.” 

“I’m sweaty. I was going to shower before dinner,” Ian whined. He felt gross. 

“Like I give a shit. Sit _down._ You’d have to get a shower after anyway.” Mickey sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed, spreading his legs so Ian could sit himself between them on the floor. With his tank top off, Ian’s misguided back tattoo was now right in Mickey’s vision. “Gotta get these tits taken care of too someday. One step at a time though.” 

“We’ll go together and get our tattoos fixed when we get out of here. Make it a date night,” the sarcasm in Ian’s tone was evident. Although, that didn’t sound too bad. 

“Thats real sweet, Buttercup,” Mickey retorted as he switched on the razor again. “You ready?” 

Ian shimmied to get comfortable on the hard ground. “You sure you know what you’re doing?” 

“You don't trust me?”

“With my life,” Ian responded immediately, craning his neck to look Mickey in the eye. “Just not sure if I trust you with my hair.”  

“It ain’t rocket science, man. It grows back. If I fuck it up I’ll wake you up tomorrow with a hummer. Let’s just do this.” 

Ian reached over and gave Mickey’s ankle a gentle squeeze to let him know he was ready. “Okay. Go for it.” He settled into Mickey’s legs when he thought of something: “Wait!”

Mickey quickly dropped his hands. “What is it now?”  

“Just don’t cut it too short. I don’t want to look like a skinhead in here.” 

“Don't worry Gallagher. The point of this isn’t to make you bald and get caught up with those white power freaks. I’m just sick of looking at this hair.” 

Again, Ian relaxed and let the other man get to work.

With steady hands, Mickey placed the tip of the live razor to the base of Ian’s hairline on his neck and slowly glided it upwards. Black chunks of curly hair fell down his back revealing a familiar orange fuzz.

Mickey slowly let his finger run up and down that small patch of shaved hair, reveling in how soft it felt. 

“What are you doing?” Ian asked, shoulders shaking with a chuckle. 

 Mickey, a little embarrassed at being caught, cleared his throat, shot back a quick “nothing,” and got back to his task. 

More and more black hair found its way to the floor of their cell, and within minutes Ian was back to looking like his old self. Mickey turned the razor off and placed it on the bed, and started brushing the little stray hairs from Ian’s bare skin. They would definitely need to shower. 

With Ian still on the floor between his legs, Mickey tightened his hold on his boyfriend and squeezed his knees together, locking him in place. Ian leaned his head back, resting it on strong thighs and looked up to see blue eyes and a soft smile, just as beautiful as ever even upside-down. “Well? How do I look?”

Mickey’s hands cradled Ian’s face gently, and slowly leaned forward to press their lips together. Ian didn’t miss a beat, seeking out the warmth of his favorite mouth, their tongues meeting. Mickey let his arms fall over Ian’s shoulders, let his hands wander, rubbing Ian’s chest and the ginger hair there, and then over his exposed stomach as they kissed. The position made Mickey’s back a little sore and made Ian a little dizzy, but their kisses were always worth it. 

Pulling away, Mickey lets his hands find the top of Ian’s head, just feeling, running his hand back and forth. “Beautiful. You always look good, but this red hair just does something to me.” 

Ian let those words consume him, making him warm and happy. 

With his natural hair back, a settled medication routine and Mickey back in his life, this is the most himself Ian’s felt in _years._ That was a scary thought for him. Chasing this exact feeling led him down a path of destruction, looking in all the wrong places, turning to the voice of god to guide him back to happiness and fulfillment, and he finally feels it here in a prison cell with Mickey. It's funny how life works sometimes. He would never have predicted that, but he's glad for it anyway. 

___

The 39th day of Ian’s sentence was coming to an end. The boys’ cell was cleaned of the hair that will never be spoken of again, they themselves showered and fed, the razor put back in its rightful spot, and the nightly check just finished. But the best part of the daily routine was only getting started.  

In the middle of the night, as soon as the guards finish making their rounds, Ian assumed his place next to his partner on the bottom bunk, who was waiting for him with outstretched arms. 

Ian slid in smoothly beside Mickey, laying his head on a strong shoulder, mouth hovering over the tattoo of his own name, fingers gently running over the healed mark in wonderment while Mickeys’ searched out their new favorite spot atop that orange head, feeling the new soft hair again. 

In the time that Ian has known Mickey, he’s become very well acquainted with his hands. Hands that are always a little dirty and stained from smoking, cut and bruised from fighting, calloused and scarred from working. But right now, they’re the softest hands Ian’s ever felt, as Mickey grazed over the fresh shave. Ian’s not sure he’s ever felt so peaceful. 

They cherish the quiet moments like this where they just can just exist as lovers, as partners. Family. Each man getting lost in the repetitive touches and affection from the other, lulling themselves into an atmosphere of safety and contentment after a long day. Alone in their cell, they allow themselves to breathe and recharge. 

“God that feels so good, Mick.” 

“Yeah?” 

 “Mhmm…” Ian looks up quickly to see those blue eyes looking down at him, and then nuzzles his face further into Mickey’s chest.

While Ian focused on the tender touch, Mickey’s brain was trying hard to keep his mouth from saying some real stupid shit. But Ian looked so nice and sleepy that he went spilling his thoughts easily. 

"You know, this is just how you looked the first time I fell in love with you.” 

The admission made Ian still, looking right back into Mickey’s eyes and noticing a slight blush to his face. “The first time?” 

“Yeah, I mean… I don't think I realized it at the time but I used to think about how this all happened, you know? I couldn't admit it to myself for a while but I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you a few times. The first being that night I invited you over to hang out. You had that army buzzcut, just like this.” Mickey couldn't keep his hands from petting Ian some more, like he had wanted to do that night all those years ago but never had the nerve to go for it.

Ian knows that night and he knows what happened the next morning. It’s not something they really talk about, and probably won’t be discussing for the foreseeable future. Ian has so many regrets, but that night could never be one of them. 

“That was probably the third or fourth time I fell in love with you, then,” Ian offered, hiding his big grin right into Mickey’s neck. “I couldn’t believe Mickey Milkovich invited _me_ to a sleepover. I was nervous as fuck that night.” 

“I know, dude. Made me fucking nervous, too. But it was a good night.” 

“The best,” Ian whispered into Mickey’s skin. He took a deep inhale of that scent as he often does. He had been majorly deprived the last few years. He’s not breathing properly if he’s not breathing in Mickey. 

Several more moments go by of the quiet contentment in cell A-22, both men cuddled close and seemingly drifting off to sleep before Ian breaks the silence.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Are you awake?” 

Mickey makes a very quiet noise of affirmation, letting Ian know that he’s there, he’s listening. 

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything, Mick.”

And Mickey knows its not just about his hair, or just about prison. Ian’s not that great with words anymore. Getting Ian to talk about his feelings these days is like pulling teeth, although with a good set of pliers Mickey thinks that would probably be easier.  

Mickey squeezes Ian where his hands had been resting all this time, pulling him into a reassuring hug. 

“I love you, Mickey.” 

And Mickey smiles sleepily. He thinks this could be a dream, but Ian’s pliant body leaning into his side and his soft breath puffing against his chest tells him it is very real. 

Yeah he’s in prison, but he can deal with that. He’s understood that was going to be a part of his life from a young age. What’s important is that he’s with Ian and together they can handle anything. They’ve proven that. 

And yeah, Mickey likes redheads.  But he only loves one.

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats. You just read my first piece of creative writing since 2nd grade. Cya 
> 
>  
> 
> And "Disneyland" is a reference from 9.6, in case some of you understandably only watched the last 55 seconds of the episode.
> 
> Also, if you're a Lorde fan, the title of this and the name "Rib" was a very last minute coincidence. But I'm pretty satisfied with that tbh


End file.
